


True Scotsman

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Kilts, M/M, Plot What Plot, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a traditional Scottish wedding, traditional Scottish dress is required.</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Scotsman

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as a birthday fic for bigtitch.

Nick walked into the hotel room, stretching slightly and rolling his shoulders in an effort to dispel some of the tension there. Family weddings were all very well, and he wouldn’t have missed his little sister’s for the world, but spending a whole day in the company of people he barely saw from one year to the next wasn’t exactly the most relaxing way of passing the time.  
  
It didn’t help that he’d had to get all dressed up for the occasion, and in the best Scottish tradition as well. He was looking forward to shedding his wedding gear, and getting into some more comfortable clothes.  
  
There was the sound of the door closing behind him, and then a pair of arms slid around his waist as warm lips nuzzled at the side of his neck. Nick sighed, tilting his head slightly.  
  
“Long day,” Stephen murmured.  
  
Nick nodded.  
  
“Your sister looked very happy.”  
  
“She is. Archie’s a good bloke, if a little stuffy at times.”  
  
“It was a very… _Scottish_ …wedding.”  
  
Nick laughed. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
“Well, for a start, I’ve never seen so many kilts all in one place before.”  
  
“Yeah, my family are very into all that.”  
  
“So are you going to tell me what Scotsmen wear under their kilts, then?”  
  
“That’s a secret we take with us to our grave,” said Nick seriously.  
  
“Oh, come on. I’ve spent the whole day looking at your knobbly knees. You owe me.”  
  
Stephen mouthed at the side of Nick’s neck again, nipping at the skin. Nick turned his head, capturing Stephen’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss that went on for several moments. When they broke apart, both men were breathing heavily.  
  
“Hmmm, maybe I could force you to tell me under duress,” Stephen mused.  
  
Nick pushed his hands down to the obvious bulge tenting the tartan fabric. “No duress needed,” he said, leaning forward to brace himself against one of the uprights of the four-poster bed that dominated the room, and wiggling his arse invitingly.  
  
He could almost hear Stephen’s raised eyebrows. “Really?” the other man asked. “Like this?”  
  
“Well, you wanted to know what’s under there. I’m just giving you the chance to find out,” Nick replied cheekily.  
  
Unsurprisingly, there was no further argument from his lover, just sudden cool air on his buttocks as the kilt was pushed up.  
  
“So it’s true then,” Stephen observed wryly.  
  
“Lucky for you,” Nick said, wiggling his behind again.  
  
“Impatient, aren’t you?”  
  
“Fuck me, Stephen.”  
  
There was a sudden sharp intake of breath, followed by some hurried noises as Stephen shed his suit jacket and unfastened his trousers.  
  
Nick was briefly surprised when two slick fingers pushed into him, making a mental note to ask Stephen whether he’d been carrying lube around all day, just waiting for an opportunity. Then those same two fingers pressed against his prostate, setting off sparks behind his eyes and making his cock jerk.  
  
“Dammit, Stephen, now!”  
  
The fingers probed and scissored almost roughly for a few more seconds before they withdrew, and Nick felt Stephen’s cock pushing into him, stretching him further, making him shove back wantonly when the other man didn’t move fast enough.  
  
Both of them moaned quietly as Stephen sheathed himself fully in Nick’s body, and then immediately started thrusting hard, making the bed creak under the strain.  
  
Nick could feel the kilt and his sporran slapping against the front of his thighs as Stephen drove into him. His cock was all tangled up in tartan, and he knew there would be some raised eyebrows at his dry-cleaners when he took his next load in.  
  
But right at this moment he didn’t care.  
  
“Harder…”  
  
The bed creaked louder in protest, and Nick tightened his grip.  
  
“Fuck, Nick, I’m going to…”  
  
Stephen words dissolved into an inarticulate noise as he came, pulsing inside Nick’s body. Nick groaned, the sensation not enough to make him come, and he couldn’t get a hand to his cock.  
  
Then he groaned again as Stephen pulled out of him roughly, and tugged him round to kiss him before pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed, dropping to his knees and once more pushing the kilt out of the way.  
  
He paused for a just a second to smile wickedly before leaning and swallowing Nick’s cock to the root.  
  
The strangled noise that came out of Nick’s mouth was rather louder than he would have liked, and it only took moments before he was coming down Stephen’s throat, panting harshly as he flopped back onto the bed.  
  
Stephen crawled up beside him, sprawling next to him on top of the covers. “That was faintly surreal,” he said. “Shagging you in a skirt is a new one to add to the list.”  
  
“S’not a skirt, it’s a kilt,” Nick mumbled.  
  
“And a very nice one it is too,” replied Stephen. He rolled on his side, so he could kiss Nick. Then he grinned. “But I like what’s under it even more!”


End file.
